khrysalis annual dyke march

I sat behind the IM one week into summer session. I was 17. It had just finished raining, and the grass was damp. It was 8 pm.

I cried.

I wanted to go home. I was in a place by myself for the first time that was entirely unfamiliar to me. I felt like I had made a mistake, that i was in the middle of nowhere and there was no true way back to what i knew. I felt lost. I wanted my mom to get me.

I played this one ambient track on my Spotify—the one i had listened to as my father sat with me on the deck before moving out, tearing up as he taught me how to use pepper spray—and looked to the sky. The clouds were pink and a soft blue as the sun set behind them. Beaver Stadium loomed imposingly ahead. Cars drove in and out down University Drive. I wanted to be in one of those, heading back to the only place I’ve ever known.

I try to rationalize my N+1’s, my “unknown unknowns”. I’m never going to figure them out. That’s the point. But I try regardless. I wear my mind out trying to predict it all. There has to be an explanation for everything. I have to be prepared for every outcome. I believe I have to.

I tell myself I hate it here. That it’s too far from any civilization, that there’s nothing to do outside of football and bars and aimlessly walking up Pollock Road in the frigid wind to go to class. I tell others I hate it here. That I should’ve gone to NYU or compromised my major choice to go in-state. At least I’d have the train to go into the city every now and then. I believe I lie to myself. As many hardships as I’ve had with others—E, E, S, S, P, M, W—I don’t believe there was any other place better suited for me. Do I hate the townies? Absolutely. Do I hate the painful, bitter cold? Every season. But do I love the friends I’ve made?

I do.

I love sitting on Blue and White Loop for an hour every morning as I eat my protein bar breakfast and people-watch before I start my day. I love walking past the Creamery in mid-October and seeing the leaves change color. I love seeing freshman friend groups walking to Pollock Commons to get dinner together, as I once did with my own friends. I love walking up the Westgate ramp and entering a building for work and classes that annoy the hell out of me, but are what I love to do. I love walking to Urban Outfitters after my volunteering shift just to aimlessly browse and not buy anything. I love smelling Canes as I walk past it to South Allen Street. I love it, I love it, I love it.

I’m about to turn 22. There is a sense of certainty that I feel I have, and even then I am utterly terrified of what I do not know. I have been here for longer than I expected, gotten my degrees, and now my life begins. I cannot go back. I cannot reverse time. I am sitting behind the IM building again, breathing in the scent of grass and asphalt. I taste the humidity, feeling its heaviness in my lungs.

I feel homesick for a place I have not yet left.